


The Young Gascon

by Awesome_Sauce_2000



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-30
Updated: 2019-03-26
Packaged: 2019-04-30 05:38:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14489994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Awesome_Sauce_2000/pseuds/Awesome_Sauce_2000
Summary: Just a bit of a story about d'Artagnan and the Inseparables being brothers. Rated T just to be safe. Disclaimer: I do not own any of these characters.





	1. Mistreated - Part 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, everyone!
> 
> I recently started watching The Musketeers show, and I fell completely in love with it. This is my first Musketeers fanfiction, so please, read and review! Italics are thoughts, in case you hadn't gathered that while reading.
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> ~TeamCapForever

Aramis woke slowly, his head pounding. Grinning, he immediately thought, _I must have had an exciting drinking night. It certainly had to be Athos worthy to cause a headache this bad._ Opening his eyes, Aramis was surprised. Athos and Porthos were both laying in the beds beside him. _What happened?_ The marksman struggled to get up, feeling weak. _Oh, I remember. I was sick._ His friends must have caught it from him. Looking around, he saw d'Artagnan propped up in a chair next to his bedside, feet resting on Aramis' bed, sleeping. The boy looked exhausted. No doubt he had been looking after them. But they were at the garrison... Why didn't any help him? Or at least make d'Artagnan rest? Aramis wanted answers. Then Porthos started to awaken.

"Keep it down, looks like our boy needs some rest. He probably didn't sleep much at all."

At the sound of Aramis' voice, d'Artagnan shifted, but didn't open his eyes, as he said, "'Mis, it's alright. Nobody was hurt, I promise."

The older musketeers both raised their eyebrows.

"It would seem you talked in your fevered sleep, my friend."

The boy stirred at Porthos' voice, as well. "Just sleep, Porthos. Everyone is safe," he murmured.

Aramis turned to his friend and stuck his tongue out, but lowered his voice even more as he replied, "Apparently, so do you."

Now Athos was waking, groaning, before either of the others could hush him.

"Wasn't your fault, 'Thos," d'Artagnan said, shifting once more.

In extremely hushed tones, Athos was informed of the situation. The three stood, albeit shakily, to discover what had happened while they were sick. It was little more than a blurry mess for all of them. Unfortunately, the creaking boards woke their younger brother.

Yawning, d'Artagnan asked, "What are you doing up?" The young Gascon got to his feet as he spoke, holding his left arm close to his body.

"d'Artagnan! We were going to ask around about what had happened. The garisson was quiet, you were nearly unconscious, and - what happened to your arm?" Aramis' words came out swiftly, making d'Artagnan's head swim.

He waved his right arm dismissively. "It was merely a squirmish, nothing more. I dislocated my shoulder. Back to bed, the lot of you. I don't want to have to lift your heavy bodies again."

Athos raised an eyebrow. "Of course. Could you possibly start from the beginning and tell us exactly what happened?"

d'Artagnan sat back down in the chair stiffly. He yawned again, though this time, his jaw popped. "Aramis got sick, Porthos caught it from him, you could it from Porthos. There was a fight out in the courtyard between two musketeers, and I happened to be standing there, so I broke it up. Except one of them dislocated my shoulder and the other one gave me a black eye and concussion. They stopped arguing, so all's well that ends well, I suppose. I popped my shoulder back in and came back up here. I haven't let anyone else come in because all three of you attempted to attack anyone who did enter. And here we are. I'll go get you some more food."

His older brothers protested.

"No, don't d'Artagnan, you rest. We can ask someone to bring us food. Porthos?"

Porthos obligingly opened the door and called out to the stable boy who came by, asking for "a healthy meal, lad! I'm withering away!"

While he was doing so, Aramis asked, "I do hope you meant you had someone pop your shoulder back in?"

Slouching further in his chair, getting comfortable enough to take a nap, the boy shook his head.

"Dare I even ask how you did it by yourself?"

d'Artagnan was drifting off, merely mumbling a, "knocked it into the wall a few times till it slid back in."

"Wait! Don't go back to sleep yet!"

The boy huffed, but opened an eye to look at the other musketeers.

"Why haven't you gotten sick?" Aramis was determined to get answers.

Closing the eye again, he replied, "I did"

The older men shared a glance and Athos said, "You may rest for now, but we are not done with this conversation. Aramis will look at you after your nap. Why don't you move to one of the beds?"

d'Artagnan didn't answer, already fast asleep.

Once they had all eaten, the Inseparables settled back to relax until their younger companion had awoken.

"He not only popped his own should back into the socket, but he suffered a concussion with no one to monitor it and took care of us while he himself was sick!" Both the doctor and the older brother part of Aramis were frantic.

"The lad did good, 'Mis. Stop worrying," soothed Porthos. "A little rest and he'll be back up and running."

Another hour later, d'Artagnan did stir. The other three were immediately at his side.

"...Can I help you, gentlemen?" d'Artanan quipped with a grin. He still looked exhausted.

"First things first! You are going to let me check you over."

The young Gascon protested, "I'm fine!"

At his friends' glares, he was silenced.

"You aren't getting out of this."

Several minutes later, the medic growled. "What is this?!" Aramis demanded, poking at the black and blue bruises all over d'Artagnan's side.

"Ow! That hurts, 'Mis! It's just from when I got knocked aside by the two fighting musketeers. I caught a table with my side." He continued murmuring, "Or maybe it's from when you tried to punch me? Or was it when I was pushed into that wall? No... I think it is from the table."

"I-I tried to hit you?" Aramis stuttered.

Again, the boy waved his hand dismissively. "You were hallucinating. Thought I was whoever you were actually trying to attack. Don't worry, it only happened once. And you didn't actually hit me."

"Boy, what did you get yourself into while we were down? You look like you went a round with a concrete block. And the block won," Athos said dryly.

d'Artagnan grinned. "You know me. I always find trouble."

"Come on, up you go. You can rest in one of the beds."

Athos and Porthos helped him up, while Aramis watched with a critical eye. d'Artagnan sucked in a breath sharply when he went to lay down. His bruised torso complained at the treatment. Aramis retrieved a jar and set about spreading its contents onto the boy's ribs.

"How did you manage to take care of us while you were sick? I don't really remember any of the past days, which means it can't have been all that pleasant," Porthos said.

Yawning, d'Artagnan replied, "Jus' did what I 'ad to."

It wasn't long before their younger brother was asleep again. Athos gently ran a hand through the boy's hair, smiling when he leaned into it. While he slept, the Inseparables went to see Captain Treville.

"Athos, Porthos, Aramis," the captain said, nodding to each in turn. "Where's d'Artagnan?"

Aramis' face grew dark at the name of their youngest and replied with a short, "he's resting."

Treville raised an eyebrow, almost perfectly imitating Athos. "Shouldn't you three be doing the same?"

"We were hoping you could clear some things up for us," Athos said, stepping towards the desk.

Their captain sighed. "Yes, I suppose you are. Please, take a seat." Once they were all seated, he continued. "If you remember, Aramis came back from you last mission with the beginnings of an illness."

His men nodded.

"You two and d'Artagnan were watching over him before Porthos fell sick, and then Athos. The boy was doing well, and all was well for awhile, but the sickness caused you to hallucinate and for some unknown reason, d'Artagnan was only one who could get through to you. Anytime someone else came into the room, even if you were asleep, you would startle and the boy would have to convince you not to behead the other musketeers."

The three men looked somewhat sheepish at the news. It explained what d'Artagnan had said about Aramis trying to punch him. At least they hadn't tried to kill their younger brother.

"Eventually, d'Artaganan forbid anyone else from entering, trying to prevent any... unfortunate accidents. A couple of days later, an argument broke into a fight, as d'Artagnan was getting food. As I left my office to see what the commotion was about, he was attempting to break up the fight. One of them, whom I shall not name for the safety of my musketeers, was angry and proceeded to shove him at the same time that the other man, who shall also remain nameless, grabbed his arm and took a swing at face. Thus ending with the boy having what I suspected to be a dislocated shoulder, a concussion, and the beginnings of a black eye."

"He did indeed have all three, as well as seriously bruised ribs from a table... Or so he thought," Aramis said.

Treville nodded. "I shall get there momentarily. After the men were dispersed, I am certain that you know our young Gascon well enough to know that when I asked him if he was alright..."

"He said he was fine," Porthos sighed.

"He did. While I attempted to point out his obviously dislocated shoulder, he promptly slammed it into the wall, popping it back into place."

Now it was Athos' turn to sigh.

"d'Artagnan left with the food and water, and returned to the three of you. I tried to check on him as often as possible, since he couldn't deny his captain entry," Treville smirked. "It soon became clear that he was coming down with the same sickness. I ordered him to rest, and I am sure that he did so, in between caring for you. However, beyond that, I couldn't persuade him to do anything else. I looked in several times to find him slumped in a chair, sleeping. To my knowledge, he is still suffering, due to his apparent lack of self preservation."

"What about the table?" Porthos asked.

The captain frowned. "He is... unliked by many of the other musketeers and recruits due to his young age. Since he began here at the garrison, I've had to deal with several men who have decided to, "teach the boy a lesson." The unfortunate meeting of his side and the table were one of them. I am assuming you did not know of these incidents?"

The dark expressions on his men's faces were answer enough.

"There will be a severe talk, I can assure you," Athos muttered.

"We shall return to d'Artagnan. Thank you, Captain."

Treville nodded as the Inseparables left. When they returned to their room, d'Artagnan was piling up the bedding.

"What do you think you're doing?!" Aramis demanded. The boy looked confused.

"I'm changing the blankets so they can be washed."

"Back to bed with you!"

The boy huffed. "'Mis, I'm fine."

At the medic's glare, he reluctantly sat back down on a bed.

"And when were you going to tell us about the others beating you up? Hmm?"

d'Artagnan shrugged. "I'm used to it. I didn't see the need."

"Didn't see the n-" Porthos started, until the first sentence registered. "What do you mean, you're used to it?"

He shrugged again, wincing when he pulled too hard against his ribs. "It's been that way my entire life. I didn't expect the garrison to be any different."

"The musketeers are to be men of honor. It should be different," Athos said.

"Again, it's always been this way."

Porthos looked as if he couldn't decide if he was angry or upset, resulting in a facial expression that would have been amusing, if not for the circumstances.

d'Artagnan tried, and failed, to repress yet another yawn, as his brothers exchanged glances. Athos reached up to grip the back of the Gascon's neck gently.

"We are your brothers, d'Artagnan. We want to help you. We want to know when someone hurts you. And you will tell us if this happens again," Athos said, guiding their youngest to lay down on the bed, as he leaned into the older man's hand, closing his eyes and relaxing.

"'M not t'rd, 'Thos."

His older brothers grinned. d'Artagnan may be just over twenty years old, but when he was sick, hurt, or tired, he was like a child.

"Of course not," Athos agreed, pulling a blanket over him and running a hand through d'Artagnan's hair. "I just want to make sure you're comfortable. You might take a few minutes to rest."

The boy sighed in contenment. "On'y few min'tes," he replied, rolling to his stomach and wiggling his right hand under his cheek. And then he was asleep once again.

Athos, Porthos, and Aramis chuckled, then set about cleaning the room.

The next morning, d'Artagnan opened his eyes and saw the sun coming up. He shot up, forgetting about his ribs, before he hissed in pain, and held his arm over his stomach protectively.

"Breathe, d'Art, breathe. In... Out..." Aramis talked to him until the boy could find it in him to shoot a glare at the medic.

"Why did you let me sleep that long? I have stuff to do, you know! I'm behind on my work!"

d'Artagnan went to stand, catching the edge of a chair to hold him steady. At that moment, Porthos came in the door with Athos and stopped at the scene before him. d'Artagnan, holding the chair for support, glaring at the medic, who still sat on the bed and was trying to soothe him.

"What did you do, Aramis?" Athos sighed.

Aramis looked affronted. "Me? Why do you automatically assume its my fault? Maybe d'Artagnan just woke up on the wrong side of the bed! Maybe he's just grumpy!"

Athos came and placed a hand on d'Artagnan's shoulder, trying to guide him back to the bed. The young man couldn't decide whether to continue his anger towards the marksman or listen to his mentor. Eventually, Athos' gentle touch convinced him to stop glaring at Aramis.

"You still shouldn't have let me sleep," he said, carefully making his way to the door.

"Where do you think you're going, lad?" Porthos asked, stepping in front of it.

The Gascon's glare almost rivaled Athos'. "I have things to do, Porthos. I'm already behind on my work as it is. So kindly move out of the way. I'll even say please."

However, just as the large man was nearly immune to the older musketeer's glare, so he was with d'Artagnan's. Draping an arm over his shoulder, Porthos went to steer him back to bed.

"I think you need to rest a little longer, my friend. You don't have too much work to do."

d'Artagnan wasn't listening. He refused to hear what either Porthos or Aramis had to say, too stubborn to heed his brothers' words. As he ducked out of Porthos' reach, he headed once more towards the door.

"Athos, do something," Aramis hissed.

The man raised an eyebrow at his friend. "What, pray tell, am I to do about it?"

"He listens to you! I don't care if you have to promise for us to do his work, just get him back in that bed to rest!"

Athos sighed once more. Striding out of the room, he caught up to the young man. "d'Artagnan, you must understand that they are merely worried about you."

"You aren't worried, so why should they be?"

"I didn't say I wasn't. I want to make sure that you are alright before you go off, doing the things you need to get done."

"It doesn't matter, Athos. It has to be done whether I'm fine or not."

Now, the older man knew that d'Artagnan craved human touch. While his father certainly gave a "well done" clap on the shoulder, or even the occasional hug, he never really filled the want to be touched in the way that meant "I love you" or "I care about you." The casual arm around the shoulders or clap on the back. If Athos used it to his advantage when the boy was being too stubborn, well, no one could prove it. Before they reached the stairs, Athos once again placed his hand on the back of the boy's neck, rubbing a little to ease the tension there. "Tell me what you need done. I will see to it. Aramis and Porthos are more than willing to help. You can rest for awhile longer."

d'Artagnan was already starting to relax. "But, 'Thos..."

"No 'but's', my boy. Come rest, I'll take care of it."

His younger brother merely hummed, not offering any argument. Athos continued to talk to him softly, moving his hand from the boy's neck to his back, rubbing gently. He led him back into the bedroom, Aramis and Porthos staring. d'Artagnan wasn't arguing, or being dragged kicking and screaming. He was quietly allowing the older musketeer to guide him.

"Is he hurt?" Aramis asked, immediately checking the boy over to see if he had suffered another injury. Smiling, Athos said, "No, Aramis. He's alright."

They managed to get their brother to lay down.

"'Mis..."

"Shhh, d'Art, we will talk about it later. What do you need done? We will help you."

The boy started up, but Athos smoothed d'Artagnan's hair, and he settled, giving them his list.

The Inseparables all looked at the now sleeping Gascon and smiled, silently making a promise. They'd protect the king and France with their life, but they'd walk through hell itself for the young man in front of them.


	2. Mistreated - Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I was asked about why d'Artagnan was used to the way he was treated. This is that story.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope it lives up to y'all's expectations!

It took about a week, but d'Artagnan was finally up and fit to complete his duties. Unbeknown to him, the Inseparables exchanged glances when he wasn't looking, wondering about the best moment to bring up their concerns. Since he had been unwell, they worried about his statement.

_"I'm used to it. I didn't see the need."_

Those had been his words. What had d'Artagnan been subjected to that made him think that being treated like this was alright?

The Inseparables watched as their younger brother trained with another musketeer. They had been on a mission and only just returned. As they watched, d'Artagnan's opponent gave him a shove.

"'E shouldn't be doin' that in trainin'," Porthos growled.

"Peace, brother," Aramis said, laying a hand on the big musketeer's arm as he took a step forward. "Let us observe awhile longer."

Athos was watching the pair with a critical eye. The fight seemed to have taken on a more dangerous turn. "I think it is time we intervene."

As he spoke, the musketeer d'Artagnan was training with completely knocked the young man to the ground, making sure to leave a parting fit on his arm. As the Inseparables stalked towards them, they could see the man's lips moving, but were unable to hear the words. A flash of hurt came across d'Artagnan's face, but was gone just as quickly.

"'Ey!" Porthos yelled. "What do you think you're doin'?"

The musketeer turned and fled, leaving their younger brother on the ground. Porthos almost went after him, but decided there were more important things to attend to at the moment. d'Artagnan started up, only to be gently pushed down by Aramis.

"Shh, pup, let me see."

"it was only my arm, 'Mis. I'm fine. And don't call me pup," said the boy, sitting up again.

"Let Aramis look you over, d'Artagnan. We can go to our rooms if you would prefer it." Athos was not about to let him hide another injury.

d'Artagnan huffed. "Alright, if I'm not getting out of this, let's at least go where there won't be an audience."

The three older musketeers grew worried. What had happened while they were gone?

"What did he say to you?" Aramis asked as he cleaned d'Artagnan's arm. The young Gascon's face grew sad.

"Nothing important," he muttered.

"It 'ad to 'ave been to cause you pain, d'Art," Porthos said, taking a step forward.

"Nothing, it is fine. May we please finish the examination quickly?"

Athos sighed, but allowed d'Artagnan to redirect their focus.

"Off with your shirt, pup. Let me ensure there is no damage there," Aramis told their youngest.

It was now d'Artagnan's turn to sigh as he said, "Please don't go killing anyone."

Three loud streams of words were heard as the shirt was taken off.

"Who did this to you?" Athos demanded.

d'Artagnan's torso was covered in an array of colors, marking many bruises.

"We were just raining," the younger musketeer said, hissing as Aramis began pressing his sides.

"d'Artagnan, this isn't "just training." This is someone using you for practice," Athos said.

"If it is anythin' like what we saw the start of down there..." Porthos let the sentence hang in the air.

"Speaking of what we saw, to bring this back to the beginning, what did that man say to you, d'Artagnan?"

Their brother closed his eyes and lowered his head as Aramis continued to treat his wounds.

"I told you, nothing important," came the suddenly soft reply.

Athos came and knelt in front of where the Gascon sat on the bed, trying to catch his eye.

"d'Artagnan, please."

It was if those gentle words broke through and in turn, broke the dam. Tears started falling down d'Artagnan's face, even as he squeezed his eyes closed and buried his face in his hands. His three brothers instantly huddled around him. Athos stood, only to sit next to the boy, pulling him into his chest, head tucked into Athos' neck. Aramis came around to sit on his other side, hand resting on d'Artagnan's arm. Porthos sat behind them all, rubbing his youngest brother's back.

"Shh, d'Artagnan, You're alright. We're here, we've got you." Athos kept upa steady stream of words, holding the boy close. As d'Artagnan calmed down, he spoke in between hiccups and sniffles.

"Th-they say that y-you... don't really c-care. That I never... never a-asked to be w-with you. They s-say that I'm not good e-enough and I'm a b-burden. And I k-know that I didn't a-ask, but I thought y-you invited me. I'm sorry that - "

"You listen to me d'Artagnan. You have nothing to apologize for. We did invite you. We do want to have you around with us."

"Those men don' know what they're talkin' about!"

"They aren't fit to be musketeers if they are acting like this. You are our brother, we wouldn't have it any other way."

After several momens of silence, Aramis asked, "What else have they said to you?"

By now, their brother had calmed almost completely.

"Mostly just jabs at how young I am, and how I'm not talented, among other things."

"Anyone who says you're not good enough or talented enough should be on the receiving end of your sword," Arams stated, smiling at the boy. d'Artagnan laughed, lifting everyone's spirits. The Inseparables exchanged looks, before Athos spoke.

"We have been wondering about when to bring this up. Now seems an appropriate time."

d'Artagnan shifted, so he could properly see all three of his brothers.

"When you were talking about the other musketeers before," Athos continued. "You said you were used to it, that it has always been this way. What did you mean by that?"

The boy sighed. "Ever since I was little, I've had people teasing me. And for awhile, that is all it was. As I'm sure you know, I can be a bit... I can be a bit of a handful." The others chuckled.

"When the other kids were bothering me, I gave it right back. Eventually, however, punches were being thrown in addition to insults. For awhile, I was unable to fight back. They were bigger and stronger than I was. I eventually figured out that it wasn't going to stop, so I had to learn to defend myself. Once I started fighting back, suddenly it was... it was a game to them. 'Who could take down Charles d'Artagnan first?'"

Athos' arms tightened around the boy, trying to pull him closer, trying to protect him from his past.

"It went on for years. Until my father taught me how to use a sword, about four years before he was killed. I was biding my time the first year and a half, waiting until I was actually decent. The next time they came after me, I unsheathed the sword. They laughed, after all how did the boy they had been attacking for all these years suddenly know how to wield a sword?" d'Artagnan stopped to take a deep breath.

"Did you kill them?" Aramis asked.

The Gascon's eyes snapped open. "No! No, of course not. Once the first few learned I really did know what I was doing, they soon gave it up. When I came to Paris, it was much of the same. The people taunting me was nothing new. Gaudet... Vadim... They all soon learned that I was decent with a sword. Once I came to the garrison, however... Well, everyone could do what I could do. I was suddenly back in Gascony, unable to defend myself, praying they would tire soon of beating me."

The Inseparables came closer, trying to comfort him.

"d'Art, why didn' you say something'?" Porthos asked.

A sad smile crossed d'Artagnan's face before he spoke. "It goes back to what I told you they said earlier. I'm sorry, I didn't want to believe they were right..."

"But you were afraid that they were," Aramis finished. Their younger brother nodded.

"Rest assured, d'Artagnan. We will always be ready to listen to you and your troubles," said Athos.

Porthos merely grinned. "And always ready to beat up anyone who says otherwise."

"Thank you, Porthos. I - " d'Artagnan's sentence was cut off by a yawn.

"Looks like it is time for you to rest, pup," Aramis said, while he and Porthos rose. "We shall bring up food for when you wake."

The two men left and Athos spoke. "And I shall leave you, as well, so you may rest."

"Could you... I mean, is it possible... Would you want to..." d'Artagnan tried to ask, but eventually just shifted closer into Athos' arms.

"Would you like me to stay?" The older man smiled down at d'Artagnan.

"If you don't want to that's fine! If you have work or -"

"Shh, I don't mind," Athos replied, leaning against the wall, while d'Artagnan tucked his head against the other musketeer's shoulder. Within moments, Athos could feel the boy's steady breath against his neck.

"Sleep well, little brother."

...

When Aramis and Porthos came back an hour later, they smiled at the sight. Athos and moved down to lay on the bed, his arms wrapped protectively around d'Artagnan, who had completely curled himself up against the older man. They wouldn't tease the two about it when they woke, but later on down the road?

_Absolutely._


	3. Little Brother

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> d'Artagnan had a little brother.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, y'all!
> 
> I've decided to change the original work into a series of one shots. Some related, some not. If you have any ideas, please leave a comment!
> 
> Enjoy!

d'Artagnan did well whenever the musketeers needed to work with children. The other three were absolutely and completely hopeless. Porthos rocked babies too hard, Aramis talked too much, and it had been so long since Athos had held a child, that he was uncertain about anything concerning them. But d'Artagnan... d'Artagnan always seemed to know what needed to be done. His brothers liked to think that it was because the Gascon was but a boy himself. It wasn't until their younger brother had been with them for a year that they found out the truth.

...

It had been going on for several days before the Inseparables noticed that something was wrong. d'Artagnan wasn't as talkative. His vibrant personality was dimmed, and his three brother's didn't know why. They had been sitting at their usual table when the beginning of the answer started to make itself known. Aramis was telling a story and when he was done, said, "I wish you could have been their, d'Art. It was one of the most amusing things I have ever seen."

Laughing, d'Artagnan replied, "My brother used to say that."

It wasn't until the other's were silent for several minutes that he realized that they weren't laughing and teasing each other anymore.

"What's wrong?" d'Artagnan asked, looking up from his food, the smile slipping off his face.

"You never told us you had a brother," Athos said quietly.

The Gascon closed his eyes, jaw clenching. "It was an accident."

"What happened?"

"Sometimes, the past needs to stay in the past, Athos. You know that better than anyone."

"I also know it helps when you talk to someone."

Porthos and Aramis sat silently, watching the other two.

"Not now." With that, d'Artagnan rose and left the table.

"What was 'at?" Porthos muttered.

"That was something that our young friend does not want to talk about," Aramis said, frowning in the direction d'Artagan had gone.

...

The four musketeers were sent on an overnight patrol outside of Paris. They sat around the fire that night, quietly watching the flames, until d'Artagnan broke the silence.

"His name was Mathieu. He was born when I was about seven or eight years old. I was so excited that I was to have a little brother. When he was born, I stared in awe for several minutes, before... before I got to hold him in my arms for the first time. Even as young as I was, I promised to always look out for him, to protect him. Growing up, we would often spend our time playing, until our mother scolded us to finish helping her or our father."

d'Artagnan smiled at the memories, but his eyes told of great sorrow.

"What happened, pup?" Aramis asked gently.

The Gascon closed his eyes, and when they opened again, they were filled with agonizing sadness and burning hatred. The Inseparables blinked and leaned back.

"Mathieu was twelve. Only twelve years old! When bandits came through Gascony. I had been playing with my friends. I heard the commotion and ran, looking for my family. The first person I found was my mother. She was trying to stop the blood that was... was flowing out of a wound in her stomach, but it was doing nothing. I slid to a stop on my knees at her side and she looked at me, told me how proud she was of me... how much she loved me. The last thing... the last thing I told her was my promise to take care of Mathieu. I wiped my tears and ran, trying to find my little brother."

d'Artagnan had to stop and take a deep breath, controlling the amounting sadness.

"I saw him. He was running. I called to him, and our eyes met and... and they just  _cut him down._  I made it to Mathieu, holding him in my arms as he... he couldn't breathe. He asked me to... sing him his favorite song. Just as I finished, Mathieu  _died_  - r-right there in my arms and I c-couldn't  _do_  anything. And all I could think was if only I hadn't gone with my friends, if only I had stayed like he  _asked_  me to - "

The Inseparables gathered closer to d'Artagnan. Tears were streaming down the young musketeers face, even as he swiped at them angrily.

"d'Artagnan, you must not blame yourself. You must not torture yourself with 'if only's'. It will ruin you," Athos told him.

Aramis advised gently, "As awful as it is, you cannot change it. Don't let these memories and this grief consume you."

"We'll always be around if you need someone to talk to, lad." Porthos pulled their youngest into his embrace. d'Artagnan willingly turned into the hug.

"Let us rest before we must continue on tomorrow," Aramis said, pulling out his bedroll.

"I'll take first watch."

"d'Artagnan - "

"I won't be able to sleep anyway. You three go sleep."

...

The next morning, d'Artagnan woke them. "It is time to start our journey back."

Athos blinked. "Why didn't you wake me for the next watch?"

The Gascon shrugged. "I wasn't tired."

Porthos, Aramis, and Athos exchanged worried glances. While they were riding home, Aramis pulled up next to Athos.

"We've drudged up unwated memories."

"I know."

"How are we supposed to fix this?"

"You are the medic, Aramis."

"Athos!"

"What do you want me to say? He watched his father, mother, and brother die. No one would be alright after that, Aramis! He's learned to ignore the grief."

The medic sighed. "I suppose for now we'll just have to let him know we're there for him."

"Like Porthos is doing now," Athos said, lips twitching at the sight in front of him. d'Artagnan, obviously lulled to sleep by the motion of the horse, was leaning to the side, into the large musketeer. Porthos chuckled, pulling the younger man's horse to a stop, while Aramis and Athos caught up.

"Why did we - " d'Artagnan yawned. "Stop?"

"Because you are falling asleep on your horse, my friend," Aramis said.

"I'm fine, we just need to move quicker."

Visibly shaking himself awake, d'Artagnan started his horse walking again.

"d'Artagnan,, let us rest awhile. We are in no hurry to return," Aramis reasoned.

The Gascon sighed, but stopped his horse and dismounted. The four musketeers led their horses off the road and into a nearby clearing.

"Here, pup, eat this." Aramis handed the boy food.

"'M not hungry, 'Mis."

"You still need to eat, you didn't eat breakfast."

d'Artagnan ignored the food, letting it sit on the ground as he talked about sword techniques with Athos. While he was distracted, answering his mentor's question, Athos casually handed d'Artagnan an apple. The boy took a bite and continued speaking. A few minutes later in the conversation, and the apple was eaten.

...

After d'Artagnan had pulled his hat down low and had fallen asleep, Aramis asked, "How did you do that? He didn't hesitate to take the apple from you and eat it!"

Athos smiled. "One day, I saw someone give him an apple in payment for something he had done for them. When questioned, they told me that he asked for them instead of money. Apparently, d'Artagnan has a great love for them. Over time, I discovered that he would eat an apple, even if he claims he isn't hungry. If you give him one while he's distracted, d'Artagnan will eat it without even thinking about it."

Both Porthos and Aramis looked thoughtful.

"I shall keep that for future reference," said Aramis. "That boy forgets to eat more times than I could count."

They sat in silence until the three musketeers decided it was time to continue their trip home. Athos started up to wake d'Artagnan. He shook the boy's shoulder, and suddenly found himself on the receiving end of d'Artagnan's knife and his back against a tree.

Athos held very still as he calmly stated, "d'Artagnan, it is only Athos. I was trying to wake you. I am sorry if I startled you."

The boy blinked. "'Thos?" Then he backed away as quickly as he could. "Athos! I am terribly sorry! I didn't - "

"I am alright, d'Artagnan. You are alright."

Aramis stepped forward. "Deep breaths, pup. You didn't hurt, Athos, he's fine. We all have our share of nightmares."

d'Artagnan calmed and hung his head. "I truly am sorry."

Porthos threw an arm over the boy's shoulders with a grin. "Its alright, lad. We've all wanted to kill Athos one time or another. Did you know, one time, he..."

And thus a story was started as the four brothers mounted and returned home. As d'ARtagnan laughed along with Porthos, the big musketeer looked back at Athos and Aramis. They all shared a look and nodded. Their little brother always acted like everything was fine, but they knew better. He would push all his grief deep down, until the anniversary of his mother's and brother's death came around again. Next time, they would be prepared.


	4. The Nickname

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> d'Artagnan has a problem with his nickname.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, y'all!
> 
> Thanks for reading! If you have any ideas or prompts, please comment and let me know! 
> 
> Enjoy,  
> ~Team_Cap_Forever

The Inseparables were sitting at their usual table, eating breakfast when d'Artagnan finally made an appearance.

"There's our pup!" Aramis said with a grin.

" _Don't call me that!_ "

d'Artagnan's older brother's exchanged glances. He usually didn't snap at them.

"d'Art? What's wrong?"

Glaring, the Gascon slammed his plate on the table and sat down.

"Nothing. Leave me alone."

The other three musketeers looked at each other worriedly, but did as he asked. Five minutes later, the boy's food was consumed, and he left, not speaking a word. Athos, Porthos, and Aramis watched after him, all asking the same question. What happened to d'Artagnan?

...

"Have you seen d'Artagnan?" Athos asked as they headed to their rooms that evening.

"I 'aven't seen 'im since breakfast," Porthos answered.

Aramis shook his head. "Neither have I."

Athos sighed. "We can't help him if he hides and refuses to tell us what's troubling him."

"Well, he has to come back to sleep, so we might be able to speak with him when he returns," the medic suggested.

The other two were about to agree, when they opened the door to a surprise. d'Artagnan was there, but already fast asleep. He lay there, on his stomach, arms tucked under his pillow, face turned towards them.

"He looks upset even in his sleep," Athos said, gently running a hand through his youngest brother's hair. d'Artagnan turned his face up towards the hand, relaxing. "We will talk to him tomorrow, and see what we can do about this."

The Inseparables were silent as they climbed into bed. Tomorrow. They would make this right tomorrow.

...

The sun rose, and so did the garrison. As the older musketeers woke, it was with dread. Their little brother was already gone. Athos sighed, running his hands over his face.

"d'Artagnan is going to be the death of me."

Aramis and Porthos chuckled.

"At least we will always have that reassurance. No matter what is troubling the pup, he always manages to give us gray hairs."

The Inseparables headed down to eat, before their morning patrol. As they strolled through the streets of Paris, a voice that was all to familiar caught their attention.

"You don't know what you're talking about! Leave me alone!"

The musketeers rounded the corner and there was d'Artagnan. He was surrounded by ten other men. Men that the Inseparable recognized as both red guards and musketeers. Why would the two opposing groups work together against their younger brother?

"'Ey! Break it up, lads!" Porthos scowled at them, daring them to challenge him.

"I would listen to him. You wouldn't want to see him really upset," Aramis added in with a grin.

Meanwhile, Athos was giving them his infamous glare, one that made many a man quiver in their boots. The men grumbled, and cast glances between the Inseparables and d'Artagnan, but eventually dispersed.

Raising an eyebrow at their youngest, Athos asked, "Would you care to enlighten us on your situation, d'Artagnan?"

The Gascon crossed his arms and glared at them. "No. I was fine."

Aramis snorted. "You definitely looked like you were not fine, pup."

d'Artagnan's glare became even sharper. "I  _told_ you  _not_  to  _call me that."_ And then he was gone.

Porthos blinked. "'Ere's definitely somethin' 'at's not right 'ere."

Athos merely grunted, running through the situation in his head. "There's something we're missing, and d'Artagnan's the only one who can tell us what it is. Tonight, even if he is asleep, we will speak about this."

...

The rest of the day passed the same as before. Their youngest brother was nowhere to be seen, although it wasn't for lack of searching on the Inseparables part. They searched high and low throughout the day, but hadn't seen him since their encounter that morning. They were worried as they trudged to their rooms that evening. Athos pushed open the door, expecting to see d'Artagnan asleep. However, their young Gascon was perched on the window ledge, legs dangling into the air.

"d'Artagnan?"

He swiped at his face before swinging his legs back in and turning to face him.

"'Thos."

Porthos and Aramis pushed in behind Athos.

"d'Artagnan!"

The medic was immediately at the boy's side, examining the black eye, hands gently tilting his head.

"What happened, d'Art?"

The Gascon grinned wearily. "They didn't think I'd fight back."

"Please, mon frère, tell us what is happening. You snapped at us, avoided us, and came home with a black eye!" Athos paced to prevent himself from checking on d'Artagnan himself.

d'Artagnan's eyes focused on the ground. "It's stupid," he muttered.

All three of his older brother's hearts melted.

"It isn't stupid if it bothers you, lad," Porthos stated.

Athos gently took d'Artagnan's arm, leading him to sit on one of the beds. "Come sit, and tell us what is troubling you."

"It shouldn't bother me at all! I know you don't say it in a mean way, but everybody makes fun of me for it and it isn't fair!"

"What isn't fair? What are you talking about?" Aramis asked.

Suddenly, d'Artagnan stood, running a hand through his hair and pacing across the room, much like Athos a few minutes prior.

"You call me pup or whelp and everyone laughs and pokes fun at me for it! They told me that's all I am to you! Just following the three greatest musketeers like a…a lost puppy! Like I don't mean anything, I'm just your shadow… and I hate it!"

d'Artagnan stopped in front of them, eyes squeezed shut, fingers pressing the bridge of his nose. "I told you it was stupid."

"Who was it?" Aramis hissed.

The Gascon looked over at him in confusion.

"Who said these things to you? Was it the men we saw earlier? Why, I'll - "

"Aramis," Athos interrupted. "I believe we have more pressing matters at hand." He stood and placed his hands on d'Artagnan's shoulders. "Mon petit frère, we did not mean for this to befall you. You must believe me when I say that it was bestowed in affection."

"We'll refrain from calling you that in the future, if - " d'Artagnan stopped Aramis from completing his sentence!

"No! I - I don't mind it, I just… don't like the consequences when the others hear."

"Speaking of consequences, 'ow'd you get the black eye?" Porthos asked.

d'Artagnan looked straight into Porthos' eyes as he replied, "I didn't like they way they talked about me, but it was when they started questioning your honor that I… I lost my temper."

His brothers grinned.

"Well, since you defended out honor so brilliantly, I suppose we should do the same," Aramis said, looking over at Athos and Porthos.

Athos nodded thoughtfully. "Yes, that does seem to be the right course of action."

"Pup, please tell us who we need to go… say hello to."

d'Artagnan's face lit up. His brothers could be a pain, but when it came down to it, there was no one he loved more.

 


	5. Jealous

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sigmund on FF suggested a fic where d'Artagnan befriends another musketeer and the Inseparables get jealous. I switched it up a bit, but I hope it lives up to the standards!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, y'all!
> 
> I know... it's been embarrassingly long since I've updated... But I'm sure y'all know how life is, and how you can't predict things. :o) Anyways, this isn't too terribly long, but I hope you enjoy!
> 
> Please let me know what you think! If y'all have any ideas, feel free to suggest them! I'm always looking for new ideas!
> 
> Thanks for reading!
> 
> ~TeamCapForever

It was a well known fact that the Inseparables did not share. Anything they had deemed theirs, no other musketeer dared touch. Thus, the garrison watched with interest when d'Artagnan strolled into the courtyard with a new acquaintance. Everyone held their breath, watching the Inseparables cautiously as the unknown threw an arm around d'Artagnan's shoulder.

"Who's your 'friend', d'Art?" Porthos asked, hand unconsciously tightening on his sword.

Athos and Aramis came to stand on either side of him as d'Artagnan answered, "This is Pierce! I met him while I was in the market for Constance. Pierce, this is Aramis, Porthos, and Athos."

"What were you doing in the market, Pierce?" Athos said, eyeing the man before him.

d'Artagnan looked at him in exasperation.

"Athos, you're not going to interrogate him!"

"We're merely curious, pup," said Aramis.

d'Artagnan appeared skeptical, but allowed it to pass. "Lets go eat! Then you can get to know him. Politely."

The Inseparables watched the two as they ate. Every time Pierce would reach to tap d'Artagnan, or lean towards him to bump shoulder, they glared at him pointedly.

When they all got up from the table, Aramis put an arm over d'Artagnan's shoulder, pulling him closer. Porthos and Athos went to stand next to them, waving to Pierre as he left the courtyard.

Surprisingly, d'Artagnan didn't seem to realize what they were doing.

"We're going riding tomorrow!"

"I thought we were on duty tomorrow?" Aramis asked, arm tightening its hold.

"Captain Treville gave me the day off," he answered with a quick smile.

A few minutes later, and the Inseparables had ensured their youngest brother was on his way to bed, before storming into Treville's office.

"You relieved d'Artagnan of his duties so he could go riding?" Athos demanded.

Treville didn't look up from his paperwork as he replied, "d'Artagnan hasn't requested a day off in quite some time. I have no concerns about letting him have a day to himself."

"He can always go riding when he isn't supposed to be on duty with us," Aramis argued.

"And that, men, is the root of this problem," said Treville, finally looking at them.

The Inseparables stared back, confused.

"He isn't with you. Three of my finest men are acting like jealous children, because d'Artagnan is doing something without you. He'll be back soon enough. You are musketeers - act like it."

Unfortunately, not a one of them were repentant, which is how they ended up attempting to talk their youngest out of leaving.

"Pup, why don't you wait until we can go with you?" Porthos asked.

"As much as I enjoy your company, I will be just fine on my own, I assure you. Even if something happens, Pierre will be with me."

"Oh, yes, everything is alright if Pierre is with you," said Athos, frowning.

"What does that mean?!"

"Nothing, d'Art," Aramis smoothed over. "We're just...worried. You aren't exactly know for staying out of trouble."

"I'll come back alright. I promise."

True to his word, d'Artagnan came bak unscathed. However, he did return alone. The Inseparables were at his side before he dismounted, reaching to help him, checking to make sure he was alright.

"I'm fine! I'm fine! There's no need to check for injuries! Nothing happened!" d'Artagnan laughed, batting their hands away.

"Where's your new friend?" Porthos asked, eyes searching the streets behind them for any sign of the other man.

"Pierre had to return home. He doesn't live in Paris."

"Ah, that is...unfortunate," Athos said, lips quirking.

Porthos and Aramis nodded in agreement. "Very unfortunate."

The garrison could breath once again. The Inseparables had back what was theirs, and the world was right again. There would be no alley duels today.


End file.
